


Baby You Can Drive My Car

by akensing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Blow Jobs, Episode: s15e13 Destiny's Child, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex in/on the Impala (Supernatural), Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23838958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akensing/pseuds/akensing
Summary: What HunterCorp Sam and Dean really did in the Impala.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, HunterCorp Dean Winchester/HunterCorp Sam Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 111





	Baby You Can Drive My Car

“But you love the Fiat,” Sam says, in a shocked voice, when Dean suggests they take the other Winchesters’ Chevy Impala for a test drive. He gets in the passenger side willingly enough, though.

“Course I do,” Dean agrees. It’s not even a question. Dad had chosen everything about their main ride except the color, but the Fiat is his mint-green kitten and he loves her. Dad knows him pretty well. Still, doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate a car like this. He curls his fingers around the Impala’s leather-wrapped steering wheel, then runs a hand along the polished dash.

“Come on, Sam, you gotta admit that other Dean takes good care of this baby.” His fingers itch to turn the key in the ignition. He just knows she’ll start easy, with a low growl that fades into the purr of a well-tuned 327 four barrel engine. He bets that other Dean maintains her himself.

The Fiat is more practical than an American muscle car like the Impala. She’s small and easy to park in the cities they work in. Her two-cylinder TwinAir engine is reliable—not to mention better for the environment—and doesn’t require the kind of fiddling and tinkering an older car would. When Dean was sixteen, he’d wanted to enroll in the auto shop class at his high school but Dad had said there was little need for him to know more than the basics of changing a tire and oil or checking coolant levels. Dean had more important things to do than being a grease monkey in some small town, Dad said, and he was right, of course.

Still, Dean washes his kitten every week himself, even though they have staff who maintain the rest of the cars. And he does change her tires and her oil and keeps an eye on her coolant levels. Anything more complicated than that he leaves to Jose, HunterCorp’s head mechanic. Or he did, before their world was destroyed. He runs another caressing hand around the Impala’s steering wheel. He bets the other Dean doesn’t let anyone else get under this baby’s hood.

“Ugh, I don’t know, Dean,” Sam complains, shifting in the passenger seat. “Bench seats, man.”

Dean glances over at him. Sam’s knees are brushing the glove box and he’s got the beginnings of an epic cranky-pants face. Dean gropes under the seat and finds the metal bar for changing the front seat position. He squeezes it and pushes his feet against the floorboard, and the bench slides back several inches.

“Better?” he asks and Sam nods. It’s mostly just Sam complaining for the sake of complaining. Those ridiculously long legs of his don’t fit much better in the Fiat but he knows better than to whine too much within Dad’s hearing.

Dean drapes an arm across the Impala’s front seat back and looks over his shoulder into the back. “Look at that,” he says. “There’s still room on the floor back there for our briefcases. And that Louis Vuitton weapons bag Dad got you for Christmas.”

Sam twists to look in the back too, and Dean’s fingers graze his neck. When he faces Dean again, Dean waggles his eyebrows. “You know what else bench seats are good for, Sammy?”

Sam’s eyes brighten. He looks out each of the Impala’s windows, but there’s no one in the bunker’s garage. The other Sam and Dean are debriefing after the hunt. He wonders idly whether their relationship is different in this world. Maybe they’re just brothers here. But he recognized the way other Dean looked at other Sam when he said they’d need an hour and he sincerely doubts it. They’re probably jerking each other off in the shower right now. That’s how he and Sam “debrief” after a hunt. They keep their activities on the DL while at home but what they do together when they’re on the road is about the only thing in their lives that Dad doesn’t control.

So, they probably have at least twenty minutes before there’s any danger of being interrupted. Sam’s pulling his scarf from around his neck and folding it into a tidy square. He sets it on the dash and pats it twice before turning to face Dean again. He bends his left leg so it’s pressing against the seat back and his right leg gives him leverage to bend toward Dean’s crotch.

He gets straight to it, bless him. Unbuttons the fly of Dean’s khakis with those long fingers, gets Dean’s cock out, and hoovers him right into that talented mouth of his. Dean’s already hard. Not because of the car, of course. Okay, maybe a little because of the car. It’s the leather smell, he thinks. And maybe also the faint scent of oil and brake fluid. Something about garages always get his motor running. Heh.

Sam’s tongue does that thing it does and Dean bucks up into his mouth. He slips down the seat a bit, spreading his thighs wider, and Sam hums when his nose touches Dean’s hip. It’s good, it’s always amazing, but Dean wants more. He threads his fingers into Sam’s hair and tugs gently against the bun.

As expected, Sam pulls off and glares reproachfully at him. “Dean,” he warns. His lips are red and spit-slick, his chin glistening a bit. He looks debauched, but also ticked off, the way only Sam can, and Dean grins at him.

“I know,” he says. “Not the hair.”

“Never the hair,” Sam counters. It’s a recurring theme. Dean suspects Sam makes a big deal about his hair just so Dean will mess with it. He’s a contrary fusspot and Dean wouldn’t have him any other way.

“You want this or not?” Sam says gesturing at his still-hard cock. There’s a bead of fluid welling up, about to slide down his length and the tip of Sam’s tongue appears between his lips, like he can’t wait to taste it.

“In the back,” Dean says, jerking a thumb over the seat back. “No reason not to share the wealth.”

Sam clambers over the front seat, nearly kicking Dean in the head with his Ferragamo loafers. Dean opens the driver’s side door, hoping the metallic screech won’t carry to wherever the other guys are. Or that they’re similarly occupied and won’t notice.

He opens the back door and gets in, climbing over Sam’s already stretched-out body. Sam licks the tip of his dick as he maneuvers a knee between Sam’s ribs and the seat back and Dean shivers.

“Hang on a sec, darn it,” he grouses, but Sam ignores him. He reaches up for Dean’s cock in both hands, and Dean’s hands shake a little as he fumbles Sam’s pants open. A sixty-nine position would be more comfortable in a king-size bed at a nice hotel, since as big as the Impala is, they’re still two six-foot-something guys in the back seat of a car, but this is the best he can think of while his dick is in the state it is.

He gets Sam’s cock out, slips a hand inside his pants, and cups his balls. Sam’s got his mouth around Dean, already sucking steadily, and Dean’s gotta catch up here. He wraps his lips around the head of Sam’s cock and Sam stumbles a bit in his rhythm and groans. Yeah. This might be Dean’s favorite. He’s a GGG kind of guy; likes pretty much anything Sam wants to do with him or to him, but there’s something a little extra dirty and hot about a sixty-nine. Sam’s legs spread beneath him, as wide as the car allows. Dean’s nose nestles in the crease of Sam’s thigh, the musky scent filling his head, sweaty and sharp, a faint tinge of the other Winchesters’ cheap Irish Spring soap still lingering from Sam’s shower this morning. Speaking of things that are a little extra dirty and hot, he wonders whether other Dean is soaping up other Sam’s dick this very minute and has to push that thought away before he comes too soon.

Sam’s tugged his khakis down and is feeling him up back there, his hands pulling Dean’s cheeks apart, thumbs massaging along his crack, blindly inching toward his hole. The cool air of the garage wafting over his bare ass from the open door is a contrast to how they’re steaming up the interior and Dean shivers as Sam works him over. When Sam drapes one arm over his lower back and pulls his hips down, Dean complies. His thighs are gonna scream in a minute from holding him in this awkward angle, but then Sam tilts his chin up and Dean’s cock slips into his throat.

That’s it. Dean groans, a muffled sound with Sam’s dick still stuffing his mouth full, and comes. His mouth goes slack around Sam and he leans his head briefly against Sam’s thigh. His dick pulses down his brother’s throat and stars wink in and out behind his closed eyelids. Sam swallows once more, his throat fluttering around Dean’s cock and the aftershocks are almost as good as the main event.

His thighs really are screaming now, though, and he still has a job before him. He pulls out of Sam’s mouth slowly, Sam’s tongue soft and wet, and Sam plants a little kiss on his tip. He shifts forward a little, curling his spine and sitting on Sam’s chest to give his legs a break. Sam’s big hands stroke up and down his thighs and Dean turns his full attention back to Sam’s cock.

It’s glistening and a dark swollen red, slick with Dean’s saliva and Sam’s precome. Dean swirls his tongue around the head, laving that bundle of nerves on the underside. He doesn’t have the deep-throating skills Sam has—Sam’s cock is just too darn big—but he’s got other talents and Sam’s never complained about them before. That’s the one thing Sam never complains about.

He pulls off just long enough to lick his right hand and wraps it around the base of Sam’s cock. His other hand is fondling Sam’s nuts and Sam’s making those little groaning, huffing breaths that means he’s close. Dean twists his hand back and forth and takes as much as he can in his mouth. He’s bobbing his head at the steady pace Sam likes, hand and mouth working together in well-practiced rhythm. His fingers slip toward Sam’s perineum and Sam’s hands clench around Dean’s thighs in an iron grip. His middle finger finds Sam’s hole and presses gently.

Sam comes with a low groan and Dean swallows everything, right hand still working until Sam twitches and Dean finally pulls off. He swipes the back of his right hand across his mouth and chin and pulls his left hand free of Sam’s pants, gliding the pads of his fingers over the soft skin of Sam’s balls, which makes him shiver like it does every time.

They shuffle awkwardly around next to each other on the seat and rearrange their clothes. Sam’s pulled the elastic band from his hair to redo his bun when they hear the garage door creak open. They slide down the seat and tips sideways toward each other to get out of sight. The other Sam’s voice calls, “Guys?” and then fainter, the other Dean’s voice calling back, “Where the hell’d they go?”

The garage door slams shut and Sam looks at Dean with wide eyes. “Crap, that was close. Guess we better get out of here.”

Dean nods. Sam fixes his hair and scarf, after a quick glance at his reflection in the rearview mirror, and they exit the Impala, closing the doors slowly to keep the squeak at bay. Dean pushes both doors gently until they click closed and they steal from the garage to catch up with the other Winchesters in the main room of the bunker.

The other Winchesters feed them and thank them for their help and it’s when other Dean rejects their suggestion that they stay for awhile, that Dean is sure their relationship isn’t just brothers, either. Other Sam’s cheeks are as pink as his Sam’s and that’s the telltale sign Sam just got off, so Dean knows he was right about what they were doing while he and Sam were in the Impala. He wonders what that angel and the kid think of them. Maybe they don’t know either, the same way they keep their secret from Dad and the rest of HunterCorp.

Just before they leave, he turns back to other Dean. “Oh, uh, when we were looking around, we, uh—we saw it.”

Other Dean looks suspiciously back at him. “It?”

“The car,” he confirms. He really wants to ask if he can take a look under the Impala’s hood before they leave, but other Dean’s eyes narrow even more.

“You didn’t touch it.”

“Oh,” Sam butts in with the absolutely smuggest smirk Dean’s ever seen on his face. “We _drove_ in it.” Less than forty-eight hours since they met these guys and Sam’s already figured out how to push this Dean’s buttons too. 

“I’m sorry. You what?” Other Dean now looks like he’s about to blow a gasket. They’ve definitely overstayed their welcome.

“And we’re leaving.” He grabs Sam’s shoulder and pushes him up the stairs.

“Ow!” Sam complains. “My arm—you’re hurting it!”

“Sam,” he warns.

“Dean,” Sam protests, but Dean keeps pushing.

“Have fun in Rio!” other Dean shouts as they leave the bunker. He doesn’t sound like he wants them to have fun there, at all.

It’s a shame they can’t stay here, but Rio could be good. Maybe they’ll find wherever Dad came out of the rift along the way. Sam finally lays off whining about his arm and nudges Dean with his other elbow.

“You know,” he says, “No one knows us here. If we don’t find Dad, maybe we don’t have to hide anything in Rio.”

Dean licks his thumb and smooths a stray strand of hair off Sam’s temple. “Yeah,” he says. “That’d be nice.”


End file.
